Footwork
by Dark Glass Marionette
Summary: Pre-movie. The knights pick up on a strange habit of Tristan's, and they're determined to find out where it comes from. Lancelot, being the first one to notice, makes the question arise one ordinary night at Vanora's tavern.


**A/N: **The plot bunnies... Holy crap, the plot bunnies! Seriously, this one attacked me so viciously I couldn't get it out of my head. It came to me after watching the initial fight scene against the Woads more than a few times... and then noticing Tristan's exceptional footwork. And then this weird idea was born. Anyway, weird as it is, enjoy!^^

Oh, by the way: there's a multichapter story in the works, unsurprisingly Tristan-centric. It's going to deal with a "canon" aspect of the King Arthur myths, and a major aspect at that. Keep an eye out if you're interested!

* * *

Lancelot was the first to spot it, then Gawain and Galahad, and then the rest of the knights. They all agreed when stating they had picked up on one strange habit of Tristan's. True, the man was already strange enough, but that quirk of his just took the cake. Galahad being Galahad and the less discreet of the knights was the first one to drop the hint that something was causing chuckles and odd looks to rise among them; Tristan being Tristan immediately noticed it, though he never made any comments about it until one fateful night at Vanora's tavern.

The quirk? Tristan was constantly moving his feet.

When Lancelot first phrased it like that, the widespread reaction among the knights was of indifference; when Lancelot _made_ contrast between that and Tristan's personality, finding out the reason behind that quirk was the knights' next mission. It only got better as they proved their suspicions correct: the silent and collected scout, unable to control his feet? Then came a good point on Galahad's part: it was also in combat that Tristan never stayed still. He was constantly moving back and forth, from side to side, never stopping until he was certain every enemy was lying dead on the ground; it sometimes seemed as if Tristan were literally dancing. Even when he was standing still, he was at least tapping the ground with the tip of a foot. _That_ was what piqued their interest completely, and that's why the question arose that night at the tavern. To the knights' surprise, even Arthur joined in to find out, though he kept himself in check to act as inconspicuous as possible.

"Feeling restless, Braids?" asked Bors, an hour into their evening. Tristan barely looked up from the apple he was peeling and regarded Bors with one of his deadpans. Normally, it would've intimidated some of his comrades but Galahad, in a jolly mood -and not precisely caused by the ale he was drinking-, piped up before anybody could speak.

"For somebody as calm as you, you never stay still. Ever tried to _stand_ without moving your feet?"

"It's not just that," Lancelot said, looking at Tristan in the eye, "but in battle, too. Understandable as it might be, we're starting to wonder why you can't stay put."

"You ask him that now?" came a familiar voice from behind the knights. Lancelot and Galahad shared a look: they had not missed the change in Tristan's expression when Dinadan and Percival came into sight and joined them at the table. Dinadan had an amused glint in his eyes, which were fixed upon Tristan. "You should've noticed ever since we all came together. And there's a good reason behind his constant movement, too, but he's never told you."

"They never asked," Tristan defended himself, turning his attention back to his apples.

"You don't even_ let us_ ask!" Galahad complained with a laugh. His remark earned him Gawain's agreement. "And even if we do, it's always the dagger we end up staring at." Lancelot had to nod at that; many had been the times when an innocent question had earned them a frightened look down the length of Tristan's dagger; the bugger wouldn't open his mouth, for certain not even if beat up.

"Galahad," Percival called, clapping a hand on the young knight's shoulder with a friendly smile on his young face, "you don't know what you're getting into. Don't worry, Dinadan will uncover the truth for all o' you, won't you, Din?"

Exclamations of eagerness and loud laughs filled the tavern for a moment. The knights gathered in front of Tristan, who was silent like a tomb. Lancelot swiftly moved to sit next to Arthur, with whom he shared a wide smile. "You won't regret having joined us tonight, Arthur, I assure you."

Arthur chuckled. "It wouldn't surprise me if this ended up badly, but we'll see: this might even turn out to be fun."

Lancelot's smile widened, then focused back on the taunting directed at Tristan. It had turned into an all-out charge against the scout, mostly from Dinadan, Galahad and Percival, with the others listening intently with smiles plastered on their faces. Tristan, while having yet to speak with words, did so -and eloquently- with his eyes. There was a murderous glare in them, but Dinadan was shrugging it off with a grin.

"Either you tell them or I do, Tristan," he said, stepping closer to the scout. "It was meant to come out. You might be the scout and possible the most observant knight among us, but you've got to give them some credit."

"Come on, what's another detail going to do to you?" teased Percival, crossing his arms. His tone came out mellow as he said, "Seriously now, though, we've been together for fourteen years and we barely even know you. At least let us in on this." Percival, ever so polite, made emphasis on his, "Please?". And still, Tristan remained quiet. Dinadan growled, finally fed up with the scout's indifference, and spoke up.

"He used to dance!"

"I used to dance."

Tristan's voice came out even louder than Dinadan's, and finally the scout had everybody's attention. Lancelot felt a smile spread across his face but did not know exactly why: maybe because Tristan had at last confessed, or maybe because of _what_ he had confessed.

Percival broke the silence with a loud, "So that's why? At last somebody who knows of the arts!" Lancelot and other knights looked at Percival disapprovingly, prompting him to say, "What? You barbarians wouldn't understand."

"Oh, don't pull a Galahad on us, Perce," said Bors, waving his hand dismissively at the mentioned knight.

"HEY!"

"Aren't you all forgetting about someone?" Arthur spoke up for the first time. "Or maybe that's what he wanted."

All eyes turned to Tristan again, whom they found with a small grateful smile on his features. "It's not something to be dwelt upon."

"I beg to differ," said Dagonet. "Not only do we know something else about you, Tristan, but now we know that we have to be even _more_ careful around you."

"Figures that men who dance are the deadliest ones," Lancelot offered, then hid his next smile behind his mug of ale.

"I'm surprised myself: I was expecting all of you to roar with laughter," said Tristan, rolling his eyes, though sincere. As if on cue, most of the knights, including Arthur himself, burst out laughing, which only annoyed Tristan further.

"You clearly don't know us!" said Bors. "Serves ye right for being alone all the time. Y'know I'm not one fer mushy stuff, but at least there's someone else with a degree of normalcy."

Lancelot saw his chance to tease his friend. "As if having eleven kids was _normal, _Bors!"

"And you think bouncing from woman to woman is normal?" Bors bit back. He headed inside the tavern with a grumble before Lancelot could reply, then came out and addressed Tristan. "I'm being honest, though."

"You still have the dance in your head?" Galahad asked Tristan as the good humor subsided. Tristan looked up from his apple once more and fixed his dark eyes on Galahad.

"You want me to be honest?"

There was an undertone of raw emotion in the question, a tone in which Lancelot had never heard Tristan speak, that quieted all of them. Silent, deadly, calm; and now he knew that their scout, Tristan of Sarmatia, was a container that would not let spill the thousands of emotions that were swirling within him. Arthur was staring at Tristan in awe, obviously having detected it too, as were the knights. In a man of such regularity and stability like Tristan, every change was both unexpected and welcome.

Tristan stood straight and squared his shoulders. "Aye, I still do. Every night, I go to sleep with the beat of the drums echoing inside my head, and then I dream of home." A brief smile lit his face. "That's why I'm not as eager as you to go home; I go there in my mind. A lame attempt of an excuse, I know, but that's how it is for me. As much as I long to return, my memories make the wait a bit more bearable." He looked at Dinadan. "There, I said it."

In the silence that followed, Lancelot could only stare, awestruck, at Tristan. _He's got a gift for talking, this man._

"That he does."

"Say what?"

Arthur smiled at Lancelot. "You were speaking aloud and I heard you. You're right: Tristan has got a way with words. Odd he doesn't show it that often."

Lancelot nodded in agreement, then shook his head at a sudden realization. "Nah, it's better this way."

"How's that?" Arthur inquired.

"If he talked as often as we all do, he wouldn't be Tristan and he wouldn't be as bearable as he already is. If he's comfortable with silence, then let that be."

Arthur had an curious look in his eyes. Lancelot merely shrugged as a response. Upon looking back at Tristan, Lancelot saw the scout nod solemnly at him, as if in gratitude. Again, Lancelot shrugged, this time with a smile. Percival noticed this exchange and brought it to attention, to which Tristan calmly shook his head.

"This is something I don't know," Dinadan spoke up. "What did you use to dance? It must have been real nice for you to remember still."

"There are some things you don't forget, Din," said Bors from behind Dinadan, slapping him on the shoulder. "Now go on and tell! Or else I'll send Six and Eight after you."

Everybody laughed at Tristan's eloquent grimace, even the scout himself after a few moments. Lancelot sat straight and completely focused his attention on Tristan, who promptly begun his explanation.

"It went something like this..."

Lancelot suddenly mulled over Tristan's earlier words: maybe memories, along with the moments he was living now, actually did make the wait more bearable than usual. And now, it seemed, it was time to reminisce, because Tristan was describing a dance widely known in many Sarmatian tribes and familiar to Lancelot himself. He remembered having seen his sister dance it once, his little sister of seven springs back at the time.

His imagination quickly took over, and then Lancelot was home, dancing around the fire to the fierce beat of the drums.

* * *

**A few days later.**

Lancelot walked into the stables as casually as he could, careful not betray the nagging feeling he had on the soles of his feet. Of the knights that were present, Tristan was the first one to notice him.

"Feeling restless, Curls?"

"Oh, shut up, Braids."

Tristan's laugh echoed throughout the stables.

* * *

_A/N: I'll share something with you, something I didn't say in the earlier AN: another inspiration for this oneshot was the fact that Mads Mikkelsen (Tristan) used to be a professional dancer. And then there was an interview I saw on a Swedish talk show between Mikkelsen and Stellan Skasgard (Cerdic) where the latter said: "Never hand a sword to a man who can dance." Curious what these little facts can conjure up in a writer's mind, huh? xD_

_Reviews are appreciated!^^  
_


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